


I Want to Suck You Like An Animal

by challengeaccepted



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, i have no explanation for this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 04:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10235444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/challengeaccepted/pseuds/challengeaccepted
Summary: There’s motion at the edges of his peripheral vision, something that disappears as soon as Rodney turns to look at it full-on. There are sounds coming from behind him, too, small steps and scuffs even though he knows that there’s no one behind him but a pair of heavily armed Marines.Rodney has two doctorates and a cat, so it’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This super old fic I wrote a million years ago is being posted courtesy of Escapade con because reasons.
> 
> ps: you should go to escapade con, it's fun

Rodney realizes he’s not afraid of Todd anymore when he shouts at the Wraith, “No, no, you’re an idiot, look this keyword doesn’t even _exist_ are you trying to sabota -- “

Todd hisses and clicks his teeth at him, and slams his fists against the table, hard, making it screech in protest as the metal starts to buckle. Marines storm into the room, shouting and pointing their P-90s at Todd, who looks more startled than anything else, who is already stepping away from him, and all Rodney can think is, _No no no, you idiots, go away and stop interrupting, you’re making us lose our train of thought._

\--

He goes to the brig first. 

There are a record eight Marines guarding Todd, two each on either side of the door and four standing in front of his cell. All of them look terrified, especially when Rodney snaps his fingers at them and says, “Okay that’s enough. We’re not done yet, so let him out and we can go back to work, chop chop.”

None of them listen to him.

“What do you mean there’s no command?” Todd interrupts before Rodney can start yelling, effortlessly returning to their argument, thank _God_ , and he rises to his feet and moves forward, until he’s nearly touching the Ancient force-field keeping him from the rest of the world; a Marine raises his P-90, as if _that’s_ not going to ricochet and kill them all if he fired. “Of course there’s a command; perhaps I spelled it wrong. How else do you access the database?”

“What database? Hello, are you really as stupid as you look? We’re programming _Replicators_ , and we didn’t give them a -- ”

“They’re _Replicators_ ,” Todd agrees over Rodney’s words, shouting like Rodney’s the one being stupid here, “of course they can --“ _click-hiss-clickclick_ , and that’s when they both pause, Rodney because the translation didn’t go through, and Todd because now four Marines have their guns drawn on him.

One of them says, “Step back, Wraith,” which is so phenomenally idiotic that Rodney can’t help but roll his eyes. Todd ignores him too.

“You can’t shoot him you moron. Bullets don’t go through the force field, it’ll just bounce off and kill us all, hello? Did I get all the guards that were too stupid to do real jobs?” He snaps his fingers at Todd impatiently, urgently, because he’s missing something now and part of him is saying that that something has the chance to be _big_. “You. What did you say? With the clicking and the hissing, what does it _mean_? What can they do?”

“My apologies, McKay,” Todd says, and bares his teeth at Rodney to show he doesn’t really mean it. “I forgot your language doesn’t have a word for what I’m talking about. Replicators can -- ” a pause, as Todd looks for words the Gate’s translator will pick up, “access their database. The Replicator database, their collective consciousnesses and memories. It’s a command, or it should be. I can find it, if it’s similar to Wraith coding languages.”

Which, yes, _of course_ , of course it had to be a command somewhere, some command that no one remembered, and they could _use_ it to tap into -- Rodney frowns. Todd is standing motionless, almost bored, not helping at all, and that’s because the idiot Marines aren’t letting him out of his cage. “You,” he snaps, glaring at the nearest Marine. “Get him out you moron, we’re on the verge of a major breakthrough here, do you have any idea how much time we’ve wasted already?”

But the Marine only looks warily at him and says, “Colonel Sheppard’s orders, Doctor. If the Wraith attacks you, we throw him into the brig.”

“Attacks me? I’m still alive, aren’t I? If he was going to attack me, I’d be dead by now, so just -- ” he makes a twiddly motion with his hands, but the Marine only shakes his head resolutely. At least he’s put the gun away.

“Sorry, Doctor. I’ve got my orders.”

\--

He goes to Colonel Carter next, explaining that the Marines Sheppard put on Todd’s watch are total idiots who don’t understand scientific discourse when they see it, and could she maybe get them to _let him go_ because they’re on the verge of a major breakthrough and have to get working ASAP?

Surprisingly, it works.

\--

When Rodney enters the labs the next day, Todd’s already there. He comes with six twitchy Marines, two outside the door and four inside. He barely looks up when Rodney comes in, just says, “I found the keyword to access consciousness. Do Replicators possess collective memories?”

“Do Wraith?”

“Yes.” 

Oh. “Really? Cause, see, I never really knew that. Interesting. That’s interesting.”

Todd doesn’t respond to that, just says, “Here, here, and here, your equations are wrong. You’ve failed to recall the effects of -- ” 

Which is totally _not true_ , but by the time Rodney’s done proving he’s right (except for a couple minor mistakes in their modified file 124, which he would have noticed on a second pass anyways), and cleaning up some features that have become redundant, the standard times for dinner have come and gone, the Marines have changed shifts twice, and when he looks around, he realizes that John (or someone else, but most likely it’s John) has brought him a tray from the mess and a bottle of water. 

Rodney realizes belatedly that he’s starving, and has been so for hours. “Oh, hey. I’m gonna take a break and eat. You keep doing what you’re doing,” he says, and leaves his simulation for some much-needed nourishment. 

He looks over Todd’s sections of the code as he works, watching and making comments. Todd’s not brilliant or anything, but he’s adequate, and Rodney’s so into the zone that his only reaction is confusion when Todd asks mildly, “Is there a reason I am forbidden water?”

“Huh?” Todd’s stopped typing, and Rodney takes a moment to replay the conversation in his head -- they need to refine some equations and search for places where the code needs to be updated with new functions and maybe he could write a script to do that and -- “They’re not giving you water?”

“No,” Todd replies, and glances at him for a moment before looking back at the screen, tapping in a couple more lines of code and deleting some other lines. “Do you know why?”

“I didn’t know Wraith needed water.”

“All living organisms need water, Doctor McKay. I was merely wondering if this was deliberate or an oversight.” 

“Oh. Um, it’s, it’s definitely an oversight. Are you, are you thirsty? Do you need water right _now_?” Todd’s been in custody of Atlantis for more than a week, a _week_ without water, and if he were human, he’d be dead by now in maybe the sixth-most terrible way to die, which is why Rodney says, “I can give you mine.”

Todd is quiet for a long moment, before he says carefully, “The situation isn’t dire, but I do thirst.”

Rodney grabs the half-full bottle of water from the far table, where it can’t spill onto any of the machines, and offers it to Todd. When Todd only looks at it, Rodney realizes that, right, his hands are chained to his waist.

“Um, do you want me to…” He begins to raise it to Todd’s mouth, but Todd leans away with a soft, sneered hiss of displeasure. 

“Just put it in my hand. Not my feeding hand,” he corrects, and Rodney presses the bottle into Todd’s left hand, careful to keep out of range of his right (maybe it’s a ruse, maybe Todd’s going to eat him, which of course would be ridiculous because then he’d die too, but still). 

At first, Rodney watches as Todd fiddles with the open bottle in his hands, doing something he can’t quite make out, but then Todd makes a suggestion out loud that’s not half as ridiculous as his last two, and Rodney has to grab the nearest computer to start making notes, expanding the idea and marking down points of interest, because _yes, yes, that might be good_. 

By the time he remembers to make sure Todd really doesn’t need help drinking, the bottle is empty and on the edge of the table.

\--

After he yells at her about torturing their pet Wraith, Colonel Carter puts him on Wraith-maintenance duties. It is of course a huge waste of his time (and a huge waste of Todd’s time, but that can’t be helped), so he delegates it to a frumpy glasses-wearing member of the squishy scientists, one of the ones who’d been talking about things like culture and religion. He tells her to figure out what Todd needs, and promises she can take the time to interrogate him about whatever she wants while she’s at it.

“She wants to talk about his religion, can you believe that?” He says to John during dinner, speaking around a mouthful of the not-beef almost-lamb one of the trading teams brought back. “Do Wraith even _have_ a religion?”

“I don’t know. I never had the time to ask, what with them trying to eat me and all,” John comments, and spears a maybe-potato with his fork. “Seems like you’d be our resident expert on Wraith, seeing as you’re the one Todd spends most of his time with.”

“That doesn’t count. All we talk about is coding; he’s not a complete moron, anyways, so things are going faster than expected.”

“Good, that’s good,” Sheppard says, and then changes the subject to their off-world mission scheduled for the day after, which is going to be another first contact in which they’re probably going to get a) poisoned, b) shot at, c) drugged, or d) all of the above.

\--

They arrive at the planet and step literally into the middle of a ritual that, apparently, involves praying for the Ancestors to send sacrifices through the Gate.

Twenty minutes later, they’re back in Atlantis. 

“You know, maybe we should send MALPs through on every mission,” Rodney suggests, wincing as Keller pushes the shaft of an arrow through his shoulder. “To make sure we don’t walk into an ambush. Again.”

“I’ll put that on the mission report,” John agrees; he’s in the bed next to Rodney, doped to the gills with painkillers. “Right after asking for better body armor. And more chocolate.” 

\--

There’s motion at the edges of his peripheral vision, something that disappears as soon as Rodney turns to look at it full-on. There are sounds coming from behind him, too, small steps and scuffs even though he knows that there’s no one behind him but a pair of heavily armed Marines. 

Rodney has two doctorates and a cat, so it’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before.

When he was working on his first doctorate, he’d gone back to his apartment an average of four days per week, and slept there maybe two. The cat (it didn’t have a name, because it’d _followed him home_ , and that gave up its rights to a name) had spent most of his time furious at being abandoned, even though Rodney made sure one of the undergrads he TA’ed was always there to keep him fed. 

Whenever he’d eaten dinner in his apartment after sleeping at the lab, the cat would skirt around the edges of his peripheral vision, yowling and growling and knocking things down, refusing to come closer and generally doing everything a fifteen-pound cat _could_ do to punish his human for leaving it alone. 

That’s why, when he hears an angry hiss from somewhere behind him, near the back of his neck that’s been hissed and batted at a million times before, Rodney throws up his arms and shouts, “Okay, okay, I get it! I’m sorry I left you, now knock it off before I throw you into a washing machine.”

The room is suddenly very, very silent, and Rodney remembers that no, actually, he’s not on Earth and his cat’s not in Atlantis, so the only thing that makes shadows on the edges of his vision and noises where he can’t see them is the psychic Wraith sitting next to him. 

Both Marines are staring at him with unconcealed awe. Todd is staring fixedly at his computer screen. He’s not typing, and Rodney’s pretty sure that the way his lips are pressed tightly against each other and the way he’s very intently ignoring Rodney are signs of embarrassment.

After a moment, Todd starts typing again. Rodney does too. 

He doesn’t see any more illusions.

\--

One day, when Todd doesn’t show up after Rodney’s been working in the lab for two hours, Rodney goes looking for him. Looking means marching to the nearest Marine and demanding to know where they put him, and could they possibly release him so that Rodney could save their lives.

The Marine looks at Rodney and sees ‘Civilian’ instead of ‘Controller of Hot Water and All Science Team Projects, Including the Still and the Personal Intranet’. Clearly, he’s one of the new soldiers fresh off the Daedalus, because it takes Rodney nearly five whole minutes to explain that no, standing orders _do not apply_ to him, and he needs Todd now.

The Marine leads him to a room away from the usual quarters, near the uninhabited parts of the city; there are two jumpy Marines standing guard at the door. One of them gets in the way when Rodney tries to open the door. 

“Sir, this is where the Wraith is being held,” he says.

“Lemme guess,” Rodney replies, looking at him. “You just got off the Daedalus one, maybe two weeks ago. You don’t know who I am and you’ve never seen a Wraith in person before, and you wanted the chance to see one up close and personal, but now you’ve just realized that he _eats_ people like you and you’re reconsidering your post. Did Sheppard ask for _volunteers_ or something?”

“Sir, this is where the Wraith is being held,” the Marine repeats, because Rodney hasn’t yet broken him into doing what he says. 

“Yes, I _know_ that. I need to talk to him, and I need him in the labs. Trust me, it’s okay.”

The room is smaller than it looks, no larger than ten feet in either direction, and holds only a bed; Todd sits on it with his back to the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. Todd inclines his head slightly when Rodney storms in. 

“Good morning, Doctor McKay,” Todd says pleasantly. His hands are folded in his lap, but they’re not chained like Rodney’s used to seeing. 

“So, they gave you a room? It’s smaller than your cell.” 

“But more private.”

“Yes, well. What are you doing in here? You were supposed to be in the labs an hour ago.”

“Doctor Kurasaki told Colonel Carter to let me take one day off in every seven,” Todd explains, with a slight _something_ in his tone that makes Rodney pretty sure Todd finds it amusing. “She also suggested that I spend time speaking to her further, rather than work in your labs so often. She seems very interested in Wraith history. Would you like to come in?”

Todd’s smile is toothy, and Rodney narrows his eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right? How do I know you’re not going to eat me?”

“If I were to ‘eat’ you, Doctor McKay, there is no way I’d return to my hive alive. If you screamed, you’d probably even survive the encounter. I’m hardly the type to sacrifice my life for a chance at ending yours.” 

Rodney considers this for a moment. Then, he considers how funny it would be to scare the crap out of the Marines guarding Todd. And if Rodney’s sick of them already, Todd must be on the verge of homicide. 

“Don’t worry,” he calls through the closed door, and tries not to sound too gleeful at their panic when he asks Atlantis nicely to keep it closed for now and hears the lock click into place. “I’ll scream if he eats me.”

“You aren’t afraid of me?”

Is he afraid of Todd? He looks at Todd suspiciously. “Should I be? Because I’m invaluable in stopping the Replicators -- there’s no way you’ll be able to finish the changes without me, and if you’re really hungry you could probably eat both the Marines before they get shots off. But then you’d be dead. How did you convince them to let your hands free?”

“I only have one feeding organ,” Todd says, turning his left hand over to reveal the smooth, unbroken skin. “I’d have to break the neck of the first drone, using both hands to overcome him. It’d give the second time to call for help, so by the time I drained the second, I would have all of Atlantis hunting me. Also, I told Doctor Kurasaki that it was considered a great insult amongst my kind to have our hands bound.”

Clearly, Todd thinks about it a lot. Then again, Rodney figures if he was locked in a room for so long, he’d probably start making escape plans too, even if he doesn’t act on them. “Is that true? That it’s an insult?”

“Not especially.” Todd looks at his right hand for a moment. “But we don’t bind the hands of enemy Wraith prisoners.”

“Oh.” Huh. Interesting. One of the Marines is still trying to open the door. Hello, _locked_? “How long do you think it’ll be until they open the door?”

“Until Colonel Sheppard arrives. Would I be penalized if they were to shoot each other?” 

Is that a joke? Wraith body language is hard to read, and Rodney is barely literate with _human_ body language. It… sounds like it should be a joke. “I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to hurt anyone, even if you don’t eat them, Todd.”

Todd laughs like humans do -- a deep-voiced human with matted hair and a tattoo on his face, but still like a human. 

“Do you have a real name?” When Todd only looks at him silently, Rodney finds himself tripping over an explanation. “I mean, it’s just, if we’re going to be working together, I guess I shouldn’t just call you _Todd_ , especially if you hate it or something.”

Rodney, for example, is pretty sure he’s willing to kill (well, okay, maim) anyone who calls him Meredith and isn’t Jeannie.

“Names are a human thing. Wraith don’t use names,” Todd says, still watching Rodney mildly. It’s starting to get unnerving. “Todd is an acceptable label.”

“What did you tell Kurasaki? Please don’t tell me she’s going to take you away for days to interrogate you for her stupid pseudoscience. Who _cares_ about Wraith culture? Uh, no offense,” Rodney adds belatedly.

“None taken.” Todd rubs at the fingers of his hand, absently, and because Rodney is Rodney and when given an inch (he’s told) he’ll take a mile, he pushes Todd’s feet off the bed and sits down on it.

“So I have a question for you. I mean, you evolved, right? Not, I mean, not personally you, but as a species, you evolved from the Iratus Bug.”

“Yes?”

“Why _do_ you only have one hand-mouth-sucker thing? I mean, it’s hardly symmetrical. Wouldn’t it be better to have two?”

To Rodney’s great surprise, Todd actually _laughs_ at that, a short, quick burst of sound. “It’s been agreed that two feeding organs aren’t necessary, and can be a detriment in cases where one hand needs to be put somewhere potentially dangerous -- grabbing prey from a hole, or doing volatile repair work. Asymmetry is hardly unusual; human hearts are in the left of the chest cavity.”

“And you think that’s funny? Wraith have no sense of humor.”

“It’s also the beginning of a Wraith joke.”

“Wraith tell jokes? You know _jokes_?”

“Most sentient creatures possess a form of humor,” Todd says, and changes the subject. “Doctor Kurasaki asked me questions about Wraith historical records, and I answered them. I also told her Wraith work in four day shifts, followed by four days of leisure time, that we needed at minimum six hours of sleep per day, and that privacy was of the utmost importance.”

Which explains how Todd has his own room and is sitting around doing nothing. “You, you liar! That’s not true, you just made it up to fuck with her, so you can get out of working and do whatever it is that Wraith do in their free time.”

“In my ‘free time’,” Todd says coolly, undisturbed, “I usually communicate with other Wraith. None are in range right now.” He bares his teeth at Rodney, and the corners of his mouth quirk slightly upwards. “I may have allowed your scientist to misinterpret some of my other comments, for lack of other things to do.”

Translation: because he was bored. Rodney can’t believe she fell for it. 

“She’s not my scientist,” Rodney protests. “She’s an _anthropologist_. That’s barely a science. Anyways, one day off a week isn’t too bad, if you have to. Just make sure you’re in the labs on time tomorrow.”

Now that he’s delivered his demands, Rodney gets up to go.

There’s no sound of movement, but Todd says to his back, close enough to make the hair on the back of Rodney's neck prickle, “Stay,” followed by a brief pause, and then, almost quietly, “I find your company less repellent than most.”

Rodney opens his mouth to say something, feeling the press of words rising up to the tip of his tongue because that’s how it works. He doesn’t have to think beforehand, and it’s gotten him in trouble in the past, but what’s come out has usually been honest, and right now, _he_ wants to know what he’s going to say too.

That’s when the door slides open, thanks to Sheppard and his magic gene, and when Rodney looks again, Todd is sitting on the bed, one side of his mouth quirked upwards in amusement and maybe something else.

\--

They find an Ancient lab on P4X-R87. It’s only partially powered, but the Ancient security system nearly kills them anyways, until Sheppard finally manages to find the off switch, just barely saving Rodney from being exploded into a million pieces by a drone.

It’s not _quite_ a weapons outpost, but Sheppard and Ronon find a half-dozen crates of drones and guns, and spend the next three hours looking like they’re _thisclose_ to coming in their pants while Teyla looks on, amused. Rodney shares the sentiment, until he finally boots up the Ancient computer embedded in one of the walls and sees that it’s a _changelog_. For the _Replicators_.

It dates back not all the way, but far enough, full, stored copies of the Replicator base codes, marked by date and sometimes even _documented_ , with reasons for the change or reversion. He pokes a little bit deeper, and, _oh fuck yes_. 

“What’d you find, Rodney? You look like you’re about to have sex with the wall, there,” John comments from behind him, like he wasn’t just making sex noises over a cache of guns.

“I think,” Rodney says slowly, “We just found the Holy Grail of the Ancient’s work on the Replicators. It goes back _centuries_ , different versions of the Replicators, simulation logs, research data, and I don’t even know how much else.”

 

The lab won’t interface with his computer, no matter how much he tries. He doesn’t even get an error message. The two pieces of hardware are simply refusing to see each other, and Rodney’s not sure whether he wants to cry or throw things when they finally have to leave and report back.

\--

In the end, after two teams can’t find a way to make the Ancient lab interface with their machines, Rodney, Todd, and a dozen Marines go to the lab on P4X-R87, carrying extra laptops with a copy of their progress so far. 

Naturally, everything goes pear-shaped after sunset, when shouts and gunfire sound through his earpiece. “What? What’s going on?” Rodney demands, and starts pushing the laptops and drives towards one of the walls, in a shadowy place where it hopefully won’t be noticed.

Todd pulls (futilely) on the leather straps around his wrists. “We’re being attacked. I thought this planet was uninhabited!”

Rodney pulls his P-90 and takes up position behind the door, hoping to God that the natives are at the “sticks and stones” level of technology instead of the “guns and half-made nukes” level. 

And that’s when something small, white, and spherical is thrown into the lab. It explodes into white light before he can figure out how to get rid of it.

\--

When Rodney comes to, he’s face-down in the dirt and his hands are tied too-tight behind his back. His ankles are tied together as well, so all he can do is wriggle in the ground. At least he’s not gagged. He’s also not wearing his tak vest, and he has no idea where his gun is.

“Look, we’re peaceful travelers,” he babbles, and painfully struggles to his knees. “We’re, we’re scientists. We were just looking at the lab, you know, the lab a few miles from the Gate. We weren’t trying to, we weren’t, we were just -- ”

“Be silent!” His guard is carrying a knife the size of his forearm, pointed straight at Rodney. “We are waiting.”

“Waiting? What are we waiting for? Where are the others? My people are going to come looking for me, and when they find us, you’re -- ”

“Silence!” The man hisses, and presses the knife against Rodney’s chest, where it bites into the collar of his shirt. “If you speak again, I will cut out your tongue.” This close, Rodney can see that his teeth are sharp, filed into points.

When Rodney nods frantically, mouth firmly shut, his guard steps back and smiles at him. It’s not a nice smile. Rodney hopes he’s not a cannibal and planning to eat him anytime soon, because that would really, really suck.

They’re in the middle of the dense forest, and Rodney can’t see his gear anywhere -- the natives must have taken it all to a central location. He also can’t see anyone else, or any signs of fire. Not, admittedly, that Rodney’s great at all that wilderness survival stuff.

Every time his guard hears a noise, a snapped twig or the call of some alien animal, he jumps and stares into the shifting shadows like he’s _looking_ for something. When it happens for the 8th time, Rodney finally risks getting his tongue cut out to ask, “What are you waiting for?”

“The Wraith,” and something in the way he says that, tongue curling reverently around the word, makes Rodney’s hair stand on end. 

Wraith worshippers.

\--

The guard doesn’t answer any more questions, no matter how often he asks them, so Rodney gives up after a while. John and the rest of the team will be here soon, once Atlantis realizes they’d missed their checkpoint, and Rodney’s job in the meantime is just to not get himself killed (and possibly escape, but that plan doesn’t work unless he has his hands free).

His fingertips are numb, and he’s slumped against a tree. He’s been rubbing the ties around his wrists against the trunk of the tree for a while now, but can’t tell if he’s made any progress.

Motion -- man-sized motion, someone coming towards them but utterly silent, -- seizes his attention, and Rodney breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes it’s Todd.

Todd must have escaped, or more likely, the Wraith worshippers let him _go_. Both his hands are free, and Rodney can see the clean, straight line splitting the leather band dangling from his wrist cuffs, where someone cut him loose. For something so large, he moves incredibly silently, with an effortless grace that Rodney never noticed in Atlantis.

As Rodney watches, Todd sneaks behind the guard and wraps an arm around him, slamming his hand against the man’s chest. Rodney cringes and averts his gaze as the man gasps, grabbing for Todd’s arm. He -- if it were _John_ , John shooting the guard and killing him, Rodney knows he wouldn’t have cared. But this -- this is different, this is a _Wraith_ eating a _human_ , and part of Rodney screams in protest even though he knows he shouldn’t care. Humans can be the enemy too.

But those aren’t “I’m in Horrible Pain” noises that Rodney’s hearing, and when he looks again, the worshipper’s flushed and moaning in pleasure even as grey slowly spreads into his hair and wrinkles begin to form at the corners of his eyes. He’s writhing in Todd’s grip, and as Rodney watches, he turns his face to press his open mouth against Todd’s jaw.

It’s oddly, strangely, disturbing ( _erotic_ , Rodney’s mind whispers, and he wonders what Todd’s skin feels like, if it’d be warm and slightly rough like a human, or cool and smooth like a snake’s).

The worshipper stumbles and drops shakily to the ground when Todd pushes him away, alive but twenty years older, still breathing heavily. “Thank you,” he says, voice trembling, turned towards Todd like a plant to the sun. “Thank you.”

“So. It looks like the Wraith worshippers cut you loose, huh?” Rodney says nervously. “I don’t suppose you want to let me go?”

Todd picks up the worshipper’s knife and tests its sharpness against his fingertip. The palm of his hand is bloody, Rodney notices with an edge of hysteria. There’s a Wraith and Rodney’s tied up and he just finished _feeding_ from someone and there’s _blood_ on his hand. Human blood.

But instead of slamming his hand into Rodney’s chest, Todd crouches behind him and begins sawing at the rope between Rodney’s wrists. “Of course, Doctor McKay.”

When Rodney’s wrists are unbound and he’s rubbing them to try and restore circulation to them -- they’re sore and red, but he’s had worse, Todd moves down to free his feet as well. “Uh, thanks. So, we got captured by Wraith worshippers.”

“You got captured,” Todd corrects, and does something with his knife and his coat that makes the knife disappear. His next words are muffled because he’s brought his hand to his mouth, and seems to be licking clean his bloody palm. Rodney wants to be sick. “Your men as well. They cut _me_ free and offered to help me exact my revenge.”

Rodney doesn’t like the sound of that, and he scrambles backwards a bit, just in case. “Hey, wait a minute. You agreed to this. You _let_ us take you into custody in exchange for help with the Replicator code.”

“I know, and I won’t hurt you. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Surprisingly, that makes Rodney feel better. “Where are the others? Are they okay? Did you find them yet? What happened?”

“The Wraith worshippers released me. After I fed, I searched for you.” Then, Todd turns to Rodney’s guard, lying sprawled on the ground in apparent bliss, and says something made up of the strange clicks and hisses that he’s heard before, but only briefly.

The worshipper responds in kind, and after a short argument (Rodney might not understand the words, but he can recognized the increasing sharpness in Todd’s tone), he disappears.

“You have language,” Rodney accuses, when they’re alone again. Todd leads him purposefully between the trees, following something that Rodney can’t detect. He hopes it’s a path to the others, or to his supplies.

“Yes. In fact, I’m speaking to you with one right now.”

“Hardy har har. I meant a Wraith language. I didn’t know Wraith have their own language. It doesn’t translate.”

“Yes.”

When Todd doesn’t elaborate, Rodney demands, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Why doesn’t it translate? What did he want?”

“We prefer not to have our languages understood by our prey. The language I speak to you is a trading language common to many planets, used for communicating with humans.” Todd grins, showing rows of sharp teeth. “Wraith are bilingual.”

They fall silent for a while. Todd moves near soundlessly in the underbrush, but Rodney’s not great at stealth, so if they’re stalking someone, they can probably hear him from dozens of feet away. Maybe, he thinks, they’ll stumble upon a single guard and a tied Marine, waiting for Todd like Rodney’s worshipper was.

Rodney’d seen humans being fed on before, but they’d always worn an experience of pure agony and, according to all the stories he’d heard about Wraith (which were many), it hurt like fuck. But the worshipper Todd had eaten (nibbled on?) had looked like he’d been only a firm stroke away from coming in his pants. And Todd hadn’t seemed surprised -- or to _mind_ , which, really, was weird.

“So, the Wraith worshipper you fed on,” Rodney begins, and stops.

“I didn’t kill him,” Todd replies, and glances at him. “We spare the lives of our worshippers.”

“Sounded like you were doing more than just _sparing his life_. Or is that some weird Wraith euphemism I’ve never heard of before?”

“It is possible for Wraith to make the feeding process more enjoyable for humans, by injecting a higher-than-usual amount of enzyme into the feeding wound, as well as other supplementary chemicals,” Todd says, and steadies Rodney when he stumbles over a root he can’t even see. “We prefer not to, because it limits the number of humans we can feed on before our supply of the enzyme is depleted.”

Right. If you wanted to feast on humans, you’d have to give them all at least the minimum amount of drug to keep them from dying, and of course doping them all to the gills wouldn’t be enough to keep all humans complacent, because you’d still need to _eat them,_ and people don’t take kindly to being eaten.

“He seemed like he wanted to fuck you. Is that common? Do all Wraith worshippers react like that? Is that how Wraith DNA turns up in humans?” 

Todd looks at Rodney again, something strange in his expression, something he can’t _understand_. This not understanding thing is rapidly beginning to drive him crazy. “It is a common reaction to that level of the enzyme, especially when coupled with the transfer of life. Some Wraith engage in pleasure-seeking activities with worshippers, especially if they form an attachment to a particular one, but Wraith and humans are genetically incompatible. Wraith DNA in humans is a result of artificial genetic manipulation.”

“Attachment? Are you saying that sometimes Wraith _date_ humans? Did you ever do that?”

“No. I do not spend much time with worshippers. Why do you ask?”

Rodney doesn’t have an answer to that, so he says nothing.

\--

They wander around for a while longer, until Todd finds a lone worshipper and briefly interrogates him. Watching the human bow and scrape obsequiously, then bliss out and try to hump Todd after being fed on, makes Rodney feel deeply, _deeply_ uncomfortable. Todd, for the most part, barely reacts, brushing away the worshipper as if he were a fly -- mildly irritating, but generally uninteresting.

“The worshippers are going to gather near their living area to celebrate my arrival. Your teammates and supplies will be brought there shortly before dawn, where we can retrieve them.” Todd smiles again, looking more relaxed than Rodney’s ever seen him, but he supposes that’s what a meal and being unchained does to a Wraith. “I promise you won’t experience any further troubles.”

\--

As Todd promised, they find a pile of guns and radios next to a large bonfire, and the Marines are all bound and accompanied by a single guard. Other worshippers, some wearing white clay painted onto their faces to give themselves the same ghastly pallor as the Wraith, loiter around the fire, chatting.

They fall silent when they see Todd; Todd ignores them and leans towards Rodney. “Try not to antagonize anyone.”

A handful of worshippers are already glaring at Rodney. “I think it’s too late for that,” he says, and tries not to sound as nervous as he feels. “What happens if I antagonize them?”

“Very little, actually,” Todd replies, and squeezes Rodney’s left shoulder. His grip is firm and surprisingly, it makes Rodney feel better. “They’ll sacrifice you to the Wraith, but _I’m_ the Wraith, and I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“How do we get them to let us go?”

“They’re only humans, hardly a threat while you’re with me. If you think your drones won’t attack upon release, feel free to release them as well. Did you want to go now? We’ll have to make sure the simulations are completed, and it may take some more time before the worshippers finish recording the information in the Lantean lab.”

“What? We’re still -- there’s people _recording in the lab_?” And now that Rodney checks the pile of gear, it’s obvious: none of the computers or cords or drives are there, only his vest and sidearm, and the stuff the Marines had with them. All the other stuff is still in the Ancient lab, _undamaged_ , and Todd’s _minions_ are doing the grunt work for them.

“Of course. I know the importance of our work, Doctor. Once I revived from the stun device, I returned to what we had originally planned. I showed one of the worshippers how to use the recording devices we brought and how to navigate the Lantean computer. I left them to record everything they could while I searched for you. The older ones _have_ been introduced to advanced technology before.”

Wow. Rodney’s maybe a little bit in love right now. 

\--

Even after Rodney cuts loose the Marines, the Wraith worshippers stick close by, keeping a variety of weapons trained on them. Rodney manages to escape being threatened, but that’s probably because he’s been standing near Todd the entire time.

Ninety percent of the data he gets from the worshippers stations at the lab is uninteresting -- useful, maybe, but not to him -- but the other ten percent is _gold_. If having a Wraith around keeps his computers safe and gets him _minions_ , Rodney’s definitely not going to object. Besides, Todd’s not bad company, in his own way.

One of the Marines contacts Atlantis, and by the time Rodney’s done checking everything and packing up, they have orders to return. 

\--

At the Gate, Todd stops, as if he’s seriously considering escaping.

As one, the Marines point their guns at him, followed shortly by the sound of the Wraith worshippers pulling out _their_ weapons. Rodney rolls his eyes and ignores both groups. “Look, the deal was that you were going to help me finish _all_ of the code, and we’re not done yet.”

“After today, we’re no more than a day or two from completion. Without me, you’d still be able to finish it within a week.”

“Yeah, or you can go back in a couple days.”

“Why? I’d prefer to spend as little time amongst your people as possible,” Todd says, pointedly looking at the guns.

They’re planning to let Todd go anyways, and what he says _is_ true, Rodney knows. But somehow, he’s come to like Todd. He’s not a complete idiot, at least, and there’s something about him that makes Rodney want to know him _better_. Not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

Instead, what he says is, “Surprisingly, you’re not as irritating to deal with as the rest of the people I have to work with, and I’d rather not finish this by myself.”

And when Todd hesitates, he finds himself gripping Todd’s upper arm and saying, “Please?”

“All right,” Todd says, and they walk through the gate together.


End file.
